I Was Looking For The

With Their Tinted Windows Up, The Cars Of The Rich Go Like Dark Eggs Down The Roads Of Delhi. Every Now And Then An Egg Will Crack Open A Woman's Hand, Dazzling With Gold Bangles, Stretches Out An Open Window, Flings An Empty Mineral Water Bottle Onto The Road And Then The Window Goes Up, And The Egg Is Resealed.

If Only A Man Could Spit His Past Out So Easily.

Iqbal, That Great Poet, Was So Right. The Moment You Recognize What Is Beautiful In This World, You Stop Being A Slave. To Hell With The Naxals And Their Guns Shipped From China. If You Taught Every Poor Boy How To Paint, That Would Be The End Of The Rich In India.

I Am Coming Back To New York After Five Years, And It Seems That Psychics Are Taking Over The City.

These Are The Three Main Diseases Of This Country, Sir: Typhoid, Cholera, And Election Fever. This Last One Is The Worst; It Makes People Talk And Talk About Things That They Have No Say In ... Would They Do It This Time? Would They Beat The Great Socialist And Win The Elections? Had They Raised Enough Money Of Their Own, And Bribed Enough Policemen, And Bought Enough Fingerprints Of Their Own, To Win? Like Eunuchs Discussing The Kama Sutra, The Voters Discuss The Elections In Laxmangarh.